


There's a proper time to die

by satans_dolly_boy666



Series: I won´t hesitate BITCH *and then I write a Johnlock fic* [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cancer, Character Death, Depressing, Dying Sherlock Holmes, Emotional, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Friendship/Love, Holmes Brothers, Implied Relationships, Lung Cancer, Mentioned Mrs Hudson, Other, POV Sherlock Holmes, Sad, Slice of Life, Why Did I Write This?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-05
Updated: 2019-04-05
Packaged: 2020-01-05 04:29:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18358646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/satans_dolly_boy666/pseuds/satans_dolly_boy666
Summary: John, if you're reading this, do you remember the words of James Sholto? “There's  a proper time to die, and one should embrace it when it comes. Like a soldier.”I'll be a soldier this time.





	There's a proper time to die

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my Lord Satan I don´t know why did I write this. Maybe it's because I'm still depressed lol  
> If you want to cry a little bit, you can read this while listening to this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_NWgfDD-M1E ( Nocturne in C Sharp Minor )  
> I'm still feeling very weak, I don't know what's happening to me. I haven't gone to the doctor and to be honest, I don't have any intention to go. The reason for that piece of music is because I started watching several movies about the Second World War... don't ask me, but it helped me to get even sadder(?

When John used to write on his blog about our solved and unsolved cases (and some anecdotes of our day-to-day life), I didn't understand. It seemed absurd to me, pointless, irrelevant.  Now I get it, at least a bit.It's been many years since John and Rosie moved to 221B Baker Street. Our life continued after Mary's death and even after Mrs Hudson's death too. Rosie was already a gorgeous and delightful 14-year-old girl. Bold, intelligent and beautiful like her mother, sympathetic, friendly and somewhat grumpy like her father. I was planning to continue my work as a consulting detective until my body ceases to function, but I never expected it to be so early.The day I found out about my illness, lung cancer, it was already at an advanced stage. Too late now to live. I had the test results in my hand while I was shaking.  For a second, I remembered my encounter with Culverton Smith. _“I don't want to die,”_ I said. My brother was the first to know. I didn't even have to tell him on my own when Mycroft told me he knew everything. There was no hug, any crying or pity speech. Just a glance; we were Holmes; we were able to transmit our feelings without the need for a single word. Weeks went by before I could take the courage to tell it to John. Rosie was sleeping, it had been an exhausting day and we had just solved a peculiar and somewhat ridiculous case now that I remember. John cried. He cried as I had never seen him before. His tears were not the same as when he held Mary lifeless body in his arms, or when Mrs Hudson stopped breathing in the hospital. I could feel his pain and I felt guilty about it. I don't like to see John sad, maybe it was a bad decision but he deserved to know and it would have been unfair not to tell him. John deserves the whole world, but more than anything, he deserves honesty. When I faked my suicide for two years, I understood that I should never lie to John ever again. That night, John hugged me tightly; he was afraid to let me go as if he was going to lose me before the disease take care of it. Rosie felt that something was wrong, she was no longer a little girl and, again I will mention, she is a very smart girl. The following days were crucial for John to assume the harsh truth, and I gave him the time to do so. That week was the most horrible week of my life. John seemed lifeless, Rosie didn't understand anything and I didn't know how to behave. I had only four months to live, there was no turning back. I finally decided to stop working and for that, I told Lestrade and Molly about the reason behind my retirement; other big hugs, other tears on my shoulder. Then the second month was here. John was still in shock over the news but he decided to change. _"I want your last days of life not to be depressing, I want to try to make it the way it always was,"_ he said. We decided not to tell Rosie until I was in my most degrading circumstances. We went out more often, we smiled and smiled, and we spent all the time together. We went on with our lives trying to ignore the obvious. The symptoms didn't take long to appear, and we had to stop going outside to stay at home all day. Rosie didn't ask, but I'm sure she already knew something. Ah, my clever girl. From the day my brother found out about my illness, he didn't visit me again. It was better that way; I wanted Mycroft to remember me as the youngest energetic and somewhat sassy brother. And the days passed by. There were good days as well as bad days. The good days were always with John and Rosie; the bad days were when the pain prevented me from enjoying the company of both Watson. And now I find myself in this situation: it's the fourth month and I don't have much strength left. I decided to make this ridiculous short narration as if I were John Watson himself writing on his blog. Yesterday while I was lying on the bed, I started rereading the blog of my beloved doctor and the idea came out of nowhere. I don't have plans regarding this once I finish writing it, besides of course, to die. Maybe I'll just leave it around in the room and if they ever find it, I have no objection if they want to publish it or throw it in the fire. I'll be dead anyway. I don't want to die but it's a fact that I'll die regardless. This time not even John can prevent it. My last days are uncertain, I don't know when I'll stop breathing but I'm sure of one thing, I want to be able to have the last days of my life hugging John and listening to the sweet voice of Rosie. I once told John as I was calling him on the phone before "committing suicide," that many people leave a note before they die, and then I thought that my note would be too dull and even boring. For me, the only aspect of my life that matters was not my childhood, my teen years or my work itself. The most important part of my life was meeting John. Period. Nothing as simple but as complex as that. Mary's last words to me before she died were _"save John Watson."_   Funny enough, John Watson has saved me many times. My whole life would have been a waste of time without him.

John, if you're reading this, do you remember the words of James Sholto _? “There's a proper time to die, and one should embrace it when it comes. Like a soldier.”_

I'll be a soldier this time.

**Author's Note:**

> Try to ignore my awful grammar and thank you for reading this depressing piece of sh*t


End file.
